


for the care of the reaper man

by Bee_4



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Dialogue Heavy, Exiled TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Gen, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:35:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28532274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bee_4/pseuds/Bee_4
Summary: As he contemplates jumping, Tommy meets Death for the third time.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 167





	for the care of the reaper man

Tommy is standing on top of a makeshift dirt and wood tower, the breeze blowing, the ground inviting, when he sees him.

DON’T MIND ME, the figure does not say, even though Tommy hears it. I’M JUST WAITING.

“Waiting for what, then?”

WAITING FOR YOU.

Tommy squints at the figure. He looks familiar, actually, in a way that’s unsettling. The spot on the back of his eye where the arrow hit aches. The slash in the center of his chest where he was betrayed burns. He looks closer again. The figure is wearing a black hood, and doesn’t exactly have a face. He does have a face, of course, but he has a face in the way skeletons do: only somewhat, and with all of the important bits missing.

“Who the fuck are you,” Tommy says, quietly.

I FEEL LIKE THAT IS OBVIOUS.

“You’re Death.”

YES.

“What the fuck.”

TAKE YOUR TIME.

The more Tommy thinks about it, the more he recognizes the skeletal figure. It’s hard to forget, actually, the way his bony hands had held Tommy close on the floor of the Final Control Room, sweeping across the blackstone to each member of the revolution, muttering about how much more work three lives were than one, strangely fond all the while. It’s also hard to forget the figure on the pale horse who had rode behind Dream, as Dream had walked away from a bleeding body. Tommy remembers…

“Is your horse really named Blinky?”

YES. HE IS A GOOD HORSE.

Tommy takes a moment to take that in. He’s pretty sure the man told him that the last time, but he’s not totally certain. He opens his mouth to ask more questions. He closes it again. The wind blows. He’s not really in the mood to ask stupid questions, now that he thinks about it. It’s his final life, after all, and he’s been making too much work for too many people lately. At least it’ll be over soon, and Dream won’t have to bother, anymore.

“I guess this will be the last time I see you then.”

IT COULD BE.

“I don’t suppose you can tell me what’s coming after I jump, can you?”

NO. THAT IS NOT MY JOB. MY JOB IS NOT FAITH. MY JOB IS JUST TO TAKE YOU FROM HERE TO THERE, IN ONE PIECE. The figure pauses, seemingly to reconsider. IN HOWEVER MANY PIECES YOU DIE IN, AT LEAST. IT IS NOT ALWAYS ONE. IN FACT, IT IS NOT OFTEN ONE, EITHER.

Tommy looks down at the ground. It’s really far down, the ground. Tommy has experience falling off of towers and shit, breaking bones because he got too clever with his cobblestone. This would be pretty different, though. He’d be falling a lot further, and a lot more finally. He’s never fallen for good before.

“D’you think it’ll hurt?” he asks.

YES.

Tommy snorts despite himself. “Not very comforting, is it?”

I AM NOT COMFORTING. I JUST AM.

“Well, it might be good if it hurts,” Tommy says. “It’ll be the last thing that hurts me and shit. Dream said he wouldn’t… he didn’t think I’d do it. He’s my only friend, you know, but he hates me now, and all that shit. Blew up my home and everything.”

Death glides across the air. It’s strange watching that. Tommy’s never seen anyone move like that before. It’s not even like the sort of admin flying that Drista does. It’s more like the air moves aside politely for Death, and Death thanks it as he walks. It isn’t long until Death is on the pillar next to him, scythe in hand but not positioned in a way that feels threatening at all.

THAT SOUNDS LIKE AN UNUSUAL FRIEND.

“He’s a very unusual person,” Tommy says. “He was always here to watch me.”

ALWAYS?

“Well, for the bits he had time for.”

There is a pause. Death continues to stand next to him. It’s almost awkward, the silence. Death shifts on his feet (a strange image) and then speaks.

I DON’T WATCH THE MIDDLE BITS.

“Only ends, huh? Figures.” 

AND ALSO BEGINNINGS.

“Beginnings?”

I HAVE FOUND THAT PEOPLE DO REMARKABLE THINGS IN THE FACE OF DEATH.

They both stare at the ground. Or at least, Tommy thinks Death is staring down. It’s hard to tell, since the shadowy figure doesn’t really have eyes so much as holes in the places eyes should be. The wind howls. Logstedshire below them is in pieces. Tommy turns the word over in his head. Beginnings. Ends. Middles. 

“Why don’t you watch the middle bits?”

I WOULD LIKE TO. PEOPLE DON’T DIE IN MIDDLES, HOWEVER.

“Dream wasn’t ever in the middle parts, either. He was just… watching me. He was just watching me, in all - all the ends and shit!”

I WOULD NOT KNOW. I DIDN’T WATCH THAT PART.

The wind howls. The ground looks less and less inviting. Something churns in the middle of Tommy’s belly, and he realizes he is scared.

“You said it would hurt.”

MOST CERTAINLY.

“But what about after that?”

I AM NOT CRUEL, EITHER. I JUST AM.

“Huh.”

They’re silent a bit longer. The stars move around them. The wind howls. Tommy continues to think. His feet are cold. His hands are cold. Death looks cold as well. It’s hard to look warm when you are a skeleton in a cloak. He doesn’t look frightening, the more Tommy looks at him, though. It’s not that Death isn’t frightening, exactly. It’s not as though Tommy doesn’t know what he means. It’s not as though the skull isn’t strange and the wind doesn’t pound against Tommy’s heart. It’s not as though Tommy doesn’t know he ought to be scared of Death.

I WOULD HOLD YOUR HAND, IF YOU NEEDED IT. IT WOULD ONLY HURT FOR A MOMENT.

Tommy nods, and makes a decision, and steps off the pillar.

When he climbs out of the water, there is no one there anymore, and Tommy is still alive, and the wind has stopped howling.

**Author's Note:**

> i first posted this in redorich's discord in a flash of inspiration; now that it's no longer 3 am and i'm still proud of it i'm putting it here with a few edits.
> 
> there have been many deaths in literature. only one of them, i feel, has been the correct one. rest in peace, sir terry pratchet, and thank you for writing books that changed my life.


End file.
